A Coin and a Yell
by TwirlsWrites
Summary: Sam met his imaginary friend when he was 5. He saw him for the last time when he was 18. This is the story of how they met again.


Sam was only five the first time he had run away from home. He hadn't really _meant_ to, but Dad had left and Dean had fallen asleep at the little table in the motel where he was working on his homework and Sam was _bored_. He had remembered seeing a little park just like a block away and he was sure he could get there on his own. He was just tall enough to reach the doorknob and… there we go!

The park was a lot less fun by himself.

He couldn't swing by himself, at least not as well as when Dean was there, and there was no one to race or watch him on the monkey bars. He was just getting ready to go back to the motel – he kinda figured Dean hadn't woken up yet,

"Hey Kid, that's my slide!" the loud yell was – he instinctively knew – for him. It always was; Dean always said Sam was like a danger magnet. He spins around, nearly toppling over in his alarm. The kid was taller than him, but Sam figured he looked younger than Dean. Big, though.

A quick look around told him that there weren't any parents immediately around.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He took a few steps away from the entrance of the slide, going towards the stairs to get off the playground equipment and walk back to the motel.

"Oh, the little baby's sorry," the kid mocked. He took a step closer and pushed Sam.

"I'm not a baby!" Sam exclaimed; he glared.

"Oh yeah?" the boy said. He crowded forward.

"Yeah!" Sam said. He felt brave, and pushed the kid back. The kid retaliated again. As Sam tried to brace himself, he felt his footing stumble, and behind him there was only air – the other kid had pushed him into where the fireman pole was.

Sam felt himself cry out, and the kid's face peered over the edge as he fell. As opposed to the hard woodchips – and, probably, the harder concrete below as the playground area was patchy – he felt another person, as proven by the loud oomph. Sam felt a pair of hands grab his arms and prop him back up.

"Hey!" the voice yelled, "don't go pushing kids off of tall stuff, it's dangerous!" Sam turned to look at the kid, he was taller than Sam – he might even be taller than Dean – with dark blond hair and eyes that were probably hazel, but looked more like the color of the honey Dean liked to put on bread when they had the chance.

The playground bully slid down the pole. He took a step closer to Sam, who felt himself be moved behind the other kid. Oh, he wasn't actually that tall – the bully was taller, and knew it.

"Walk away," the kid in front of Sam said, "and nothing bad will happen to you, Billy." The bully glowered and pushed at the kid, hard, but nothing happened. The kid didn't budge. And then he snapped.

The bully went flying backwards, slamming into the pole he had just slid down. He started to cry. The kid grabbed Sam's hand and started running off in the direction of the motel.

"Come on!" he exclaimed. Sam, apparently forgetting everything he had ever learned about stranger danger – that didn't apply for other kids, right? – followed. After a minute or so, they arrived at the motel.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, "how did you know where the motel was?" he stomped a foot and tried to look threatening – Dean had a very angry look that worked well, but Sam could never get it right – but the kid didn't look threatened. He leaned against the wall of the motel, fished a candy bar out of his pocket, and one of his eyebrows arched up.

"Is that a thank-you?" he said. Sam continued to glare, and the kid rolled his eyes, "I'm… your imaginary friend." Sam's eyes brightened.

"Oh! But… I don't have an imaginary friend," he said, "Dad says you shouldn't trust things that don't seem real."

"You have an imaginary friend _now_," the kid said, "because you needed me. I did save you from that fall, you know, that would've really hurt. And I knew where you lived, and I know your name is Sam and you're staying with Dean and your Dad but he's not there right now. Sam pondered that over.

"What's your name?" he asked. The kid cocked his head to the side.

"You can call me… Loki," he said with a nod. Sam's nose wrinkled.

"That's a girl's name," he stated. The kid frowned, "if you're my imaginary friend, I should get to name you."

"What's my name then?" was his reply. He didn't seem like he had much confidence in Sam's decisions.

"How about…. Gabe?" Sam decided, "your name'll be Gabe."

* * *

><p>John Winchester did not actually find out about his youngest son's imaginary friend until two years later. Dean had found out right away when he had woken up to find Sammy on the floor chatting excitedly with thin air and playing with little army men.<p>

He'd been suspicious, rightly so, but had eventually let it go. Sam was a little kid, afterall (at nine, Dean did not consider himself a little kid), and little kids had imaginary friends all the time on tv. Maybe Sammy was just more normal.

John, naturally, did not see it that way. He sat Sam down, all nice (and even let Sam pull out an extra chair for Gabe), and told him that his imaginary friend was probably some creature that would kill him in the middle of the night and it was time to kill the damn thing.

Sam just giggled, because Gabe had been his best-friend-other-than-Dean for two whole years now, and hadn't killed him yet! John didn't take this well, and started yelling.

"Dad! Dad, stop!" Dean exclaimed, running over from where he had been lurking in the kitchen area of the room. John turned to him with a glare, "we could make Gabe drink holy water, and cut himself with a silver knife or something," Dean said. He glanced over at his little brother, who was staring up at the two of them, "just to prove he's safe."

"That's ridiculous," John snorted. He glanced at Sam also, and then relented.

Ten minutes later, the two older Winchesters had pretty much decided that Gabe was a perfectly normal imaginary friend. When Sam had poured the Holy Water down Gabe's throat, water had simply splashed to the ground around where Sam said he was. When he cut the imaginary friend, the knife seemed to go through thin air. He had even thrown a handful or two of salt at him, and nothing happened. Everything they had tried just seemed to prove that Sam's imaginary friend was just that - imaginary. And, more importantly, harmless.

Gabe wasn't around all of the time, he only really seemed to show up with Sam was alone – he said imaginary friends were supposed to make sure you were never lonely, and Sam figured that made sense.

He didn't age either. Gabe looked the same as he had that first day on the playground until about the time Sam turned ten, and then he looked in his early teens.

When Sam was about a week away from turning 18, his 'imaginary friend' visited him for the last time. His current form didn't look too much older than Sam, maybe in his early 20's, and – Sam noted – he was still short.

Things didn't seem to go well for him whenever he pointed this out.

"Sam, I have to tell you something," Gabe started to say. He sat down on the motel bed – Dean and John were off getting food.

"Wait, hold that thought!" Sam said. He grabbed his backpack and started leafing through it. "Check, _this_ out!" he brandished a letter at his friend, and Gabe grabbed it, rolling his eyes at his overexcited friend.

"You… you got into Stanford!" Gabe exclaimed, staring at the letter.

"Try to look a little less shocked, buddy," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"That's awesome Sam, way to go." Gabe grinned up at him, "What did Dean say?" Sam's expression fell, and he glanced away. "You didn't tell him," Gabe said drily. "Did you even tell him you were applying?"

"Does it matter?" Sam said. He grabbed the letter back, folded it back into the envelope, and slipped it back into his backpack, "I'm going no matter what – I got a full scholarship!"

"No shit," Gabe said. He whistled, "mighty impressive Sam."

"I thought you'd be more happy for me," Sam muttered.

"I am Sam," Gabe said. He grabbed Sam's shoulder, turning the boy to look at him, "Seriously – I'm just concerned that if you let it go for too long, it's all going to blow up in your face."

"It'll be fine," Sam insisted. He let out a breath, "now, let's talk about something else. What were you saying before?"

"Oh." Gabe said, "Right."

"Gabe?" Sam asked, "I haven't seen you look this serious… like… ever."

"I have to go," Gabe said.

"What?" Sam said, looking confused, "you just got here."

"I mean _go_," Gabe said, drawing out the last word. Sam just blinked at him, "After tonight, I'm leaving and I'm not coming back."

"What?" Sam exclaimed, "why?"

"It's really hard to explain," Gabe said, wincing at Sam's loud tone.

"Gabe, if you're my 'imaginary friend' doesn't that kind of insinuate you'll be floating around my head for awhile?"

"Well that's the thing – I'm not your imaginary friend," Gabe said hesitantly, "I mean, I know you've been asking because you're smarter than you were at five, but…"

"What are you?" Sam growled.

"I can't tell you," Gabe said, "but some… old friends of mine, you could say, are on my trail and if they find you it's not going to be pretty."

"So you're just… not coming back?"

"I don't know."

"Then how long will you be gone?"

"I don't know."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't _know_ Sam!" Gabe snapped, "I just wanted to tell you so that next time you're looking for me you don't think I just…"

"Took off," Sam finished shortly, "even though that's what you're doing."

"Sam," Gabe said with a sigh, "it's complicated, okay? It's better this way."

"Shut-up Gabe." Sam said shortly. "I figured it out, okay? You're a trickster. When I first met you, you tried to get me to call you Loki. I can't believe I was so stupid back then!"

"How long have you known?" Gabe asked, eyebrows raised.

"A few weeks," Sam said. "Is this all some sort of ridiculously elaborate trick on my behalf?"

"No," Gabe said with a sigh. "I… look, it's really complicated, okay?"

"Whatever _Loki_," Sam growled, "just go on and snap out of here before Dean and Dad come back and I stake you." Gabe flinched.

"Sam," he said.

Sam had stood, and was pacing.

"Sam!" Gabe tried again.

Sam ignored him.

"Damn it," Gabriel growled. He snapped and Sam found himself being pulled to Gabe's eyelevel where he sat on the bed. And then, he found himself being kissed by his best friend who until recently he honestly believed was imaginary. When he found himself kissing back, his brain finally caught up with him and he pulled away.

"What the hell?" he said, his voice coming out hoarse.

"Sam, you need to listen to me. If things ever get bad – and I don't mean John-accidentally-stabbing-himself-in-the-liver-again bad; I mean like the-world-is-ending bad – you call me, okay?"

"W-what?" Sam said.

"Just… promise me you'll call me," Gabe pushed something into his hand, "I have to go." And then he was gone.

And Sam was sitting there, his brain still catching up, with a small round coin – with symbols he could not read engraved into it – pressed into his hand.

"DAMNIT!" He yelled at the empty room, kicking his bag and sending it flying across the room. He let out a long breath and sat back down on the edge of his bed. He traced his thumb over the symbols.

Logically, he should toss the thing. Burn it, maybe, or at least have his Dad look at it.

After a moment of staring at it, Sam retrieved his backpack and opened it up, tucking the small medallion into the envelope of his letter from Stanford.

Two weeks later, the Winchesters were swinging back around to the Singer Salvage Yard to check-in with Bobby and for John to find another hunt. Sam wasn't exactly caught off-guard when Bobby pulled him aside after dinner while Dean and John were looking at something on the Impala after dinner.

"So boy, you ever going to share what was in that letter they sent you?" Sam had had all college mail directed to Bobby's house. It was easier that way, there was no way to guarantee where he would be at any point in time otherwise. Bobby had reluctantly agreed to forward Sam's letters, slipping them into another envelope.

"Right," Sam muttered. He grabbed his backpack and felt around, pulling out the slightly-crumpled Stanford envelope and holding it out to the hunter. Bobby pulled out the letter, setting down the envelope and slowly reading the text.

Sam didn't realize he was holding his breath until Bobby looked at him and smiled.

"Damn good job, Sam." Sam couldn't stop the beaming smile that broke out over his face.

"Thanks Bobby," he said. Bobby picked up the envelope again, and pulled the medallion out of it.

Sam had forgotten about that, and he started - brain working overtime to come up with an excuse for it.

"Stanford a religious institution these days?" Bobby asked. He turned the coin over in his hands.

"What?" Sam couldn't think of anything else to ask.

"Where'd you get this, boy?" Bobby asked.

"Why, what is it?"

"Well, I'm not positive. But it looks like a protective medallion," Bobby said after a moment. He beckoned Sam closer and pointed at a cluster of symbols. "This looks like enochian."

"Enochian?" Sam asked.

"Where'd you get this?" Bobby repeated.

"My… imaginary friend gave it to me," Sam said. Bobby rolled his eyes.

"Well, it looks like he's looking out for you," he said. "Feel free to do a bit of research. Just remember to put the books back exactly where you got them."

"Right. Thank-you, Bobby!" Sam exclaimed, already taking off.

"Don't forget the coin!" Bobby called, prompting Sam to rush back and grab it. "Itdjit," Bobby muttered with a slight chuckle as Sam disappeared around the corner.

* * *

><p>AN: Day 2! This is a WIP, which I normally wouldn't post, but - what the hell! - Sabriel week. No promises on when it'll update though.


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